


in college.

by Ecphasis



Category: WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alcohol, College AU, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, genderqueer!dolph, they smoke some weed sooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecphasis/pseuds/Ecphasis
Summary: ( the name is a w.i.p., suggestions are welcome ) seth rollins is a college student who has his life all figured out - he has a handsome boyfriend, 4.0 gpa, and a bright future. he also happens to tutor two other students - roman reigns and dean ambrose - and the two of them throw a wrench in his plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i started this almost two years ago and decided to post it. i'm not sure if i'm going to continue it past what i have ( maybe i will if it gets a decent response ). there are a lot of ships in this fanfic. like . . . /a lot/, but some of them are spoilers so they won't be added until they happen. i actually have the whole story plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it. as always, feedback is great. and i seriously apologize for the lame ass title.

Great. First tutoring session and he was /late/. Leave it to his boyfriend - stupid, attractive boyfriend who had kissed him "goodbye" and then things had gotten a little out of hand in said boyfriend's office because his boyfriend was a professor who didn't take his job seriously enough - to make him seem like a fucking ass clown. He hadn't even met the guy yet. Seth huffed and adjusted the shoulder strap of his messenger bag as he hurried into the library. He nodded and gave a brief smile to the librarian, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looked around. Okay, so, he hadn't met this guy yet, but from what he'd heard, it wouldn't be hard to figure out which one was him.

Funnily enough, the description that Roman texted him was about the same as the one everyone else had given Seth: tall, broad, long hair, stupidly pretty face (a feature that Roman hadn't mentioned but Ziggler had stressed because Ziggler would date anything with a pulse and ze was obviously already in love, however many days that would last). Oh, and he played football, so that was another indicator; there couldn't be that many giant Samoans wearing a football jersey and sitting around in the library waiting for their tutor.

"You Rollins?" a voice asked, making Seth jump and whirl around. Sure enough, sitting at the table he'd just walked past, was a guy with a chiseled jaw and really nice lips (Ziggler hadn't been lying), jet black hair pulled back in a bun that made it impossible to tell how long it was; his jersey sleeves stopped about mid bicep and Seth could see part of a tattoo sleeve, something intricate and immediately catching his attention, though he ignored it for now.

Seth chuckled nervously, smoothed down the front the front of his Asking Alexandria t-shirt and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sorry, I'm not normally-" He gestured vaguely with one hand, ignoring the fact he was blushing and Roman was just looking at him with an impassive face that just made him blush even more.

Roman finally laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "It's cool, man. Chill." He stood up, offered his hand for Seth to shake because apparently he was one of those gentlemanly types. He probably held the door open for women and helped old people cross the road. Then he sat back down, watching Seth as he slid into a chair across the table from him lithely.

Seth paused, drummed his fingers on his knee, before pulling out a notebook from his bag. "So, we're obviously not gonna be able to get much done today, thanks to me." He tried not to sound bitter but the way Roman's lips twitched made it very clear he'd failed. "But we should figure out when to meet up. How often. And I need to know what classes you need help in."

There was this briefest flicker of something in Roman's expression and Seth realized that this guy was choking back his ego to do this; Seth understood, really. He always wanted to do things himself. He didn't ask people for help unless he absolutely had to. "I have football practice. Still practice in the spring, but not as long." He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, appearing calm and relaxed and at ease, like he couldn't hear his pride protesting. Seth was impressed at how well he pulled it off. If he hadn't seen that look, he wouldn't have even known. "What times work for you?" Roman asked, rubbing his jaw.

Aha. This was why he brought this thing. Seth opened the notebook, flipped a few pages - second day of school and he already had his calendar for the next four months planned out. "Uh, depends on how often you want to meet. There's another guy I'm tutoring so, unless you're cool with study groups, I won't be able to offer more than, like, an hour a day." He glanced up and saw the crinkle in Roman's brow, barely there but enough for Seth to notice. "Or just us," Seth added, giving a brief, reassuring smile that made Roman relax a bit. And maybe Seth had flashed his dark brown eyes at the other male. It wasn't cheating. It was using his resources.

Roman gave a small nod. "Honestly, every day would probably be best," he admitted, deep voice a little lower now. Seth had no idea why he was so shy about this. A lot of people got tutored - especially his fellow football players (not that Seth was stereotyping; he had statistics). "Couldn't do anything most Saturdays until the season's over, but Sunday's basically free."

Seth nodded, jotting that down with a semi-concentrated expression, mind already going a million different places. "What about during the week?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Roman pulled out his schedule from his pocket, unfolding the paper and rolling his eyes when Seth laughed. He glanced over it before sliding it to Seth. "You can probably figure out better times than me," he said simply.

Seth almost told Roman not to be so hard on himself but, well, he was Seth Rollins. He tended to do everything better than everyone. It was his thing. Part of Seth worried about being too nosey - Roman had handed it to him, though, so he was obviously okay with Seth looking at it. "Okay, I think.." He turned the page in his notebook, jotting the classes down and organizing them by day. It took him a moment of contemplation and several more minutes writing and then erasing different study times (labeled Sunday through Friday) before he seemed somewhat satisfied. 

It had been completely silent while Seth had worked, apart from the calm discussions floating around them in the library and the sound of Seth's pencil; Roman had waited quietly, observing Seth as he worked. For some reason, it wasn't creepy or awkward. It didn't even feel like a /thing/. Yeah, Roman was attractive, and it definitely stroked his ego, but it just seemed like simple curiosity. He was one of those people, calm and faintly intense somehow, and he didn't jump guiltily or look away when Seth finally lifted his head and handed him his schedule back.

"So, I scribbled down times for each day on the side there." Seth leaned over the table enough to point. "That look good to you?" Roman was quiet, eyes flicking over what Seth had written before nodding his affirmation. "Okay. Awesome." He sat back in his seat. "What classes are you gonna need help in?" he asked.

Roman made a face - he didn't even try to hide it this time. Instead, he ran a hand down his face and nodded to the schedule. "All of them." His gray eyes glanced away, staring at nothing because he didn't want to see Seth's face when he realized Roman was the actual football player stereotype - a big guy who was all muscles and no brain.

Seth didn't even hesitate though, nodding and offering a friendly grin. "Of course, man. No problem." At the faintly suspicious look this earned him, he put his elbows on the table. "Seriously. Just 'cause you need help doesn't mean you're stupid," he told Roman, patting his shoulder and giving a friendly squeeze, which earned him an amused scoff from the Samoan, though he did seem to relax a little. Seth checked his watch (yes, he wore a watch, it was leather and a gift from Randy for their six month anniversary and it made him look sophisticated, don't judge him) and offered an apologetic smile. "Gotta go, though. Meeting up with the other guy I'm tutoring. You have my number, right? Text me if you need anything." 

After one last shoulder pat and a bright, crooked grin, Seth hurried out of the library, leaving a Samoan who found himself slightly distracted by his tutor's ass.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Ambrose was not at all interested in being tutored. Seth, at first, couldn't even figure out why in the hell Dean's professors had made him agree (or blackmailed him into agreeing) to study with Seth; this guy was obviously intelligent, sharp, and quick-thinking, and he had that restless air to him that Seth recognized from other kids in his AP classes back in high school. They were sitting outside because Dean had insisted on a smoke, which meant Seth was sitting at the picnic table and Dean was sitting /on/ the table, legs crossed Indian style as he took a draw from his cigarette.

"So. Rollins." Dean's voice was raspy, coming out as a drawl, somehow smooth in a way that was oddly fitting for him. He blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, tongue flicking out to swipe over his lower lip as he cast blue eyes towards Seth. "What do I gotta do to get you to tell my professors you're tutoring me?" he asked.

Seth blinked, momentarily confused. Then it dawned on him what the dirty blond was getting at, and Seth laughed, shaking his head. "Seriously? We just met and you're already asking me to lie for you?" There was a playfully incredulous tone to his voice, eyebrows raising.

Dean shrugged unapologetically, flicking the ashes from the end of his cigarette and bouncing one knee. It was already painfully obvious to Seth that Dean was not someone who sat still /ever/. Which actually made him think of a possible reason for him being assigned as Dean's tutor. "Why fuck around?" he said simply.

Seth wondered how weird it would be to ask Dean if he'd been diagnosed with an attention disorder, decided it would be a bit /too/ weird, and filed that away for another time. "Well, considering you were just /assigned/ to me when I checked my schedule, I don't think there's any getting out of this."

Dean paused, taking a puff from his cigarette as he gazed at Seth thoughtfully. "What if I blow you?" he asked, completely serious and as if it was a totally normal and reasonable offer.

In response, Seth nearly fell off of his seat, staring at Dean with eyes the size of fists and a blush heating his entire face. "E-Excuse me?" When Dean opened his mouth, clearly intending to repeat his statement, Seth raised a hand. "No, don't. Please." He cleared his throat and tried to stop blushing because it made Dean look a bit too pleased with himself. "Why are you even being sent to a tutor?" The question spilled from Seth's lips before he could even think about if he was going to ask it or not.

"Fuck if I know." Dean rubbed the cigarette out on the table, tossed the butt into grass, like he just casually littered on a daily basis. He sighed and scooted on his ass to twist his body around until he was facing Seth without having had to ever actually do anything but wiggle. "Okay, maybe I do," he amended. "They think me not payin' attention in class means I'm stupid." He snickered, shaking his head.

Seth nodded ever-so-slightly, because that made sense. Maybe Dean just needed to be medicated. Except that wasn't Seth's business and he wasn't going to lecture a guy he just met. In a week or so, maybe, but not now. "Do you actually do anything?" he asked, resting his chin on his fist, elbow propped on his knee as he studied the other male, who, as Seth had figured, was not even remotely offended by the question. In fact, he grinned.

Dean looked far too amused now, tapping his thighs rhythmically to the beat of a song he had stuck in his head. "Eh. I take the tests. Show up for classes. Mainly 'cause that's where I can pick up chicks. And, y'know, catch up on sleep." He waved one hand in the air, as if brushing the entire topic off.

Seth chuckled. "Guessing you don't do homework, then."

"Nope," Dean answered, popping the last syllable in a way that should have been annoying but was actually a bit endearing

That meant the solution was pretty simple. "Then how 'bout we meet up twice a week and I make you do some homework? Don't want to look like I'm a bad tutor." Seth laughed lightly.

There was a visible conflict in Dean's features but then he gave a reluctant nod, right before dropping his head back to glare at the sky as if it was the stratosphere's fault he was in this mess. "Fine. Only 'cause you're cute," he added, flashing Seth a shit eating grin as the other male blushed again.

Seth didn't like being one of /those guys/, but he couldn't stop himself from saying, "I have a boyfriend." He didn't want things to be too weird. He didn't mind flirting if it was casual, but he didn't want to spend the next semester with Dean coming on to him every minute they were around each other.

Dean snickered, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. "I don't want to be your boyfriend, Rollins," he drawled, eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Dean-" Seth opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, noticing the way that Dean seemed to be fighting laughter. Okay, was he just fucking with Seth? It was kind of impossible to tell. At least, until Dean flat-out laughed and gently punched his shoulder.

"Don't worry, man. I'm kidding. Not that I'm not interested, but I can be professional." Which was probably meant to be assuring, but that tone with that expression made it anything but. The only relief was that Seth knew Dean was aware of the difference between acceptable and just plain awkward (that wasn't to say that Dean would heed that distinction, but Seth could hope).

Seth shook his head and rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself as he pulled out his notebook. "So, what days would you want to meet?" he asked Dean, looking up to find that the blond had leaned over to look at the schedule upside down, expression curious with just a hint of mischief. "Hey." Seth swatted Dean in the head with the notebook. "Stop nosing through my shit."

Dean held up both hands, displaying his palms and giving a far too innocent expression. "I wasn't doing anything, Rollins. You're just paranoid." Then he scratched his jaw, tilting his head to the side. "I don't really do anything on Sunday except drink and screw whoever's willing. Unless you're into that religious shit, then that's cool." He shrugged.

And Seth couldn't help but laugh at that, genuine and unexpected and able to be felt in his cheeks. "No, I'm not into that 'religious shit.' I'm agnostic," he explained. "But yeah, Sunday works. Two sound good?" At the nod he received, Seth marked said time down. "What other day?" He could see the protest forming on Dean's lips and smoothly continued. "We'll start with two days and if you really don't need any help it'll just be once a week." He explained this in a way that made it sound like an offer - and a very reasonable one at that.

"I don't fucking care. Wednesday? No one likes Wednesday," Dean remarked, raking his fingers through his messy curls.

Another pause as Seth made a note in his schedule before nodding. "Okay. Sounds good. See you on Wednesday then, Ambrose?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Dean rolled his eyes, having pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket; he was fiddling with said lighter, creating a fire hazard that Seth nearly pointed out before he decided that this guy wouldn't care anyways. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Oh, and that number isn't mine," Dean added, lifting his gaze to Seth, who had stood and slung his bag over one shoulder. "It's my friend's. AJ's." Because Dean didn't have a phone for reasons that he was not willing to disclose.

Seth blinked. "AJ. AJ Lee?" And of course Dean grinned and gave a nod of affirmation. Of course this guy was friends with AJ Lee, the woman notorious for being completely unstable (no one dared used the "c" word after what happened to Ziggler) and also rumored to be omniscient. "Right," he sighed, rubbing his forehead before giving Dean's shoulder a friendly pat and squeeze as he offered a friendly grin and then walked off, already pulling out his phone to see who'd texted him.


	3. Chapter 3

Whoever told Roman Reigns that he was stupid needed to be punched in the face, Seth decided, because Reigns was far from it. Roman was nothing like he'd expected - well, he hadn't known what to expect, because he'd been given a description of a cliche "football star" yet had texted the guy to find he actually used proper grammar. The only thing he'd heard about Roman that ended up being true - excluding the part where he was very attractive - was that he was quiet.

Seth had assumed Roman was just shy or didn't like talking, but, halfway into their first session, he realized that Roman was silent so much because he was /thinking/. He thought about everything; even a simple question would crinkle his brow before he answered, as if he doubted himself. His voice was never more than a rumble, even when he got visibly frustrated with his inability to solve a problem, and he smiled at Seth with warm, genuine gratitude. It threw Seth off at times, to be honest, because Roman would be frustrated and muttering curses under his breath over a problem he didn't understand but he never actually lashed out at Seth. He wouldn't have taken it personally, though. In fact, he'd come to expect that sort of behavior, so the fact that Roman /didn't/ was noteworthy to Seth.

It didn't take long for Seth to decide they were friends. They met up an hour a day, sometimes in the university cafe and other times in Roman's room in the frat house he was staying in. And on Saturdays when Roman had his football games, Seth was there. Mainly because he was a male cheerleader, but. Details. The squad and the football team went out to eat together after wins; Seth still sat with the cheerleaders but Roman would occasionally join them, though he didn't say much. And then there had been that one time at Denny's (it was the only place open anywhere close to where they were) where Roman had joined the cheerleaders but, rather than sit next to Seth, he'd taken an empty seat next to Ziggler - they'd done each others hair on the ride to the football game and Ziggler had redone Roman's afterwards, and once they got back to campus they mysteriously disappeared. Of course, Ziggler gave Seth all the details later.

Things had "clicked" with Dean too, but in a completely different way than they did with Roman. Seth didn't know why it worked or even /how/, but the dirty blond quickly became his go-to guy whenever he needed someone to distract him or make him laugh or even entertain him between classes. Their dynamic was different than the one Seth had with Roman (maybe because he never actually tutored Dean, just hit him in the head with a pencil until he did homework every Sunday) but, damn it, he found himself becoming ridiculously fond of Ambrose in spite of the fact that he never took things seriously and he would hit on Seth just to make him uncomfortable and he sometimes blew smoke in Seth's face without realizing it.

Basically, Dean and Roman had nothing in common. He didn't even know if they knew the other existed, really, but he also knew that both guys were single - and very obviously interested in /Seth/. It didn't make Seth uncomfortable, but he also didn't want to get either guys' hopes up. He was with Randy and the sex was great and he was completely and utterly in love. To put it simply, Roman and Dean could spend the rest of the school year trying to take Seth on a date, but Seth would just ignore all attempts because he wasn't interested and not acknowledging it was nicer than turning them down, right? And since both of them were single, he could kill two birds with one stone. Metaphorically speaking. He didn't plan on murdering anyone with blunt force trauma (although sometimes Dean tempted him).

So Seth put a plan into place. He didn't execute it immediately; no, he waited for the right opportunity, and he made sure to be very careful about how he did it. On Wednesday, Roman mentioned a party his frat was having Friday night (it sounded more like a complaint than anything, although Roman was far too fond of his teammates to ever be really annoyed by them - and the entire frat was basically the football team). He probably hadn't meant anything by it or maybe it had been a subtle hint for Seth, asking him out while not actually /asking/. Either way, Seth laughed and grinned and clapped Roman on the back and told him he'd be there as long as he promised he wouldn't ditch him. Roman looked momentarily surprised but then smiled crookedly; his eyes shifted back to his paper and he frowned, reading a question he was having trouble with aloud, and that was their cue to go back to studying.

Dean had this uncanny ability to find Seth when he was eating lunch, regardless of /where/ he was. It was a bit creepy, really. But Dean seemed harmless enough. And when he sat down on the bench next to Seth later in the day, he just flashed a cheeky grin and stole a few of Seth's fries before he could react. They bickered for a bit before settling into a casual conversation, Seth skimming through a book for his English class and eating but still listening as Dean complained about his teachers, occasionally making witty quips that caused Dean to burst into laughter. When Dean jumped up to leave, Seth caught his wrist, looking up at the blond and possibly batting his lashes a bit as he asked if Dean wanted to go to a party on Friday. After the details were exchanged and Seth promised there would be alcohol (Roman had seemed completely unamused by that and even more so that their dean never bothered enforcing the dry campus policy), Dean agreed that he'd think about it, shoved his hands in his jean pockets and scrunched his nose as he shrugged nonchalantly before walking away. 

Which meant that Dean would be there, wearing his leather jacket with his shoulders hunched and a cigarette between his lips while looking like he would rather be anywhere else than the party. Damn, Seth was good. After conferring with Natalya (they went shopping together and Seth always ran these kinds of plans by her, because he liked confirming that he was, in fact, an absolute genius), there was only the task of explaining to Randy that he would be going to a frat party Friday night. He wrapped arms around his boyfriend's neck, leaned in to press a kiss to his lips and definitely taking advantage of the privacy Randy's office gave them, and promised he'd be there later in the night, winking before having to leave for sociology.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean had no idea why AJ was making such a big deal out of this. Okay, maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the fact that the guy invited him was, in fact, the exact same Seth he's wanted to bone for several weeks now. But he hadn't expected /this/.

At least he wasn't the only one completely baffled by AJ's insistence at a "fashion show," which was basically AJ making Dean try on every single piece of clothing he owned and walk out so she could see (she paid special attention to the jeans because, as she informed him, his ass was one of his best qualities). Punk was leaning against the wall, covering his face with one hand and shaking his head as he chuckled with disbelief - most guys would probably be a bit uncomfortable with their fiancee blatantly scrutinizing some guy's ass, but Punk was just honestly glad /he/ wasn't the one currently being subjected to her odd tendencies. "AJ, are you going to actually let Ambrose /go/ to this party?" he eventually asked, pausing when AJ spun around to face him because there was a slight chance he would be faced with his fiance's wrath for interrupting her.

Instead, AJ laughed and skipped over to Punk, pecking his lips. "You're right, honey," she sang in a tone that made it very clear she was going to remember this - combined with her too-sweet smile, it was more than a bit terrifying. Then she moved to haul Dean into the bedroom he'd been crashing in since getting kicked out of the dorms under mysterious circumstances Punk had never been educated on but knew better than to ask and had also been using as his changing room for the past half hour, shutting the door behind them. Anyone else, Punk would have been at least a bit irritated. But it was Dean Ambrose and, really, he knew better than to be bothered by that jackass. Besides, he'd seen what happened after the one time he'd tried to get handsy with AJ. It had ended with Punk cackling and Dean stumbling around for something to staunch the bleeding from his broken nose while AJ fumed.

He could actually hear AJ and Dean talking, Dean griping and AJ speaking lightly, though at one point she did threaten certain body parts that Dean was far too attached to for him to even risk. But the door eventually opened, AJ shoving Dean out in front of her. "What do you think?" she asked Punk, skipping over to stand next to him and admire her work.

Punk raised his eyebrows. "/Me/? The only thing you could do to help Ambrose would be put a paper bag on his head." He snickered when he saw Dean open his mouth to retort, but the sound cut off when AJ elbowed him. "Ow. Jesus, woman. Fuckin' domestic violence." Punk rubbed where she'd hit him before sighing dramatically. "Besides, why the fuck would you ask me? I could care less what Ambrose looks like. And I have no interest in dicks, rendering my judgment unnecessary," he argued.

AJ sighed, placed her hands on her hips. "I guess you're right." She pursed her lips as she studied Dean thoughtfully. "Before you go . . ." She skipped across the room, digging around in a drawer and then moving to give Dean a couple of condoms and a look that warned him of everything she'd do if she found out he hadn't used them.

"Why do you always give me shit about using condoms?" Dean asked with a furrowed brow, though he did take the condoms and slip him in his back pocket. "It's not like I can get knocked up. Well, okay." He scratched his jaw. "There was that one time I thought I got that blonde chick pregnant, but it was a false alarm. So you don't have to tell /me/ about using condoms when fuckin' a chick. But why in the hell does it matter if it's another dude?" He crossed his arms and arched his eyebrows.

Punk threw his hands up in the air. "And now we're going to have sex ed. Of course. At this point, I might start drinking." He was already leaving the room, moving to the bedroom where they could hear the bed creak as Punk flopped onto it dramatically.

AJ rolled her eyes at her husband. "Because if you get an STD, Dean, I'll fucking kill you." She tipped her head to the side and smiled warmly. "Is that a good enough answer for you?" she inquired.

Dean blinked once, twice, then nodded. "Yeah. Fair enough." He raked his fingers through his hair, completely ruining the effort AJ had put into trying to at least calm his wild curls and only realizing that after she glared at him. "Shit. Sorry. Thanks, AJ. Seriously. I owe you one," Dean said, kissing her cheek and then moving to hurry out the door before she could hurt him.

"Hey, babe, can we start that Dexter marathon now?" Punk called from the bedroom, peeking his head out of the doorway as if to make sure Dean wasn't still hiding somewhere.

~

Roman hated frat parties. He hated parties in general. What happened to the parties when the stupidest thing people did was think they could limbo in roller skates? Then again, he didn't think giving most of his teammates a bat would end very well, so a pinata was completely out of the question. Which logically meant that the only options left all involved alcohol (and maybe some weed, but they had rules and the guys had to go outside to smoke it, which meant Roman never saw it for himself and he could pretend he had no idea it happened). He almost felt bad for asking Seth to come to the party (albeit in the most ass-backward way possible, but he'd done it), but he didn't want to have to deal with this on his own and his teammates would give him hell if they found out he went to his room before eleven.

At least some of his teammates understood (or didn't openly mock Roman to his face). Like John, who was probably the nicest person to ever exist. Gay as hell, despite the girlfriend with the fake tits, but seriously lacking any negative quality at all. "Hey, man, you want me to cover for you? I can tell them you went out with that tutor of yours. The guys would totally buy it and not give you hell," John offered, leaning against the wall next to Roman. They both watched the other guys start moving furniture and setting up drinks.

Roman chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. Besides, already invited Seth here," he told John, unable to stop himself from smiling. Yeah, this was going to be terrible, like it always was, but at least Seth would be there. And by now his teammates knew better than to try to force him to drink (especially after what happened the one time they actually /did/ talk him into having some beer), so he wouldn't have to deal with their harassment all night. 

John grinned, punched Roman's shoulder firmly enough to be felt but in a friendly gesture - then again, they played football. Cup-checking each other was a sign of fondness. "Nice one." He adjusted his baseball cap. "Well, I gotta go get Nikki, so . . ."

Roman nodded. "Later, man." They bumped shoulders and then John left, leaving Roman fighting a disbelieving smile because, really, why John was so insistent on acting straight was beyond him. It was amusing, though. He pulled out his phone to check the time and found a text from Seth; he opened it, frowning at the message - it asked if Roman was okay with Seth bringing someone. That hadn't been what Roman had in mind, but he wasn't going to tell Seth no, so he texted back "sure." Not a moment later and a thank you message with a smiley face at the end popped up from Seth.

"Hey, Reigns, can you help me with this?" someone - probably Ryback (don't ask Roman why they called him that because Roman had no idea; Ryback was a senior and so when he said his name was Ryback, his name was Ryback and Roman didn't ask any questions) - called from across the room.

That was his cue. Roman slid his phone in his back pocket, sighing and heading over to help, knowing he'd be working his ass off until people started showing up. Which was exactly what happened, though the people were coming in early, which meant his work was cut short. Roman disappeared during a moment of chaos because one of the cheerleaders had "forgotten" to wear a bra and half the football team had noticed at the exact same time, shooting upstairs to change, though he didn't know why he bothered. He pulled on jeans - a pair Naomi had gotten him to buy, telling him he looked hot in them and he /definitely/ needed to get them - and a t-shirt with the university's mascot on the front of it. The shirt was a bit tight, to the point that Roman actually tried to twist his neck around to check the tag and, yep, it was his, but apparently someone had shrunk it when they had laundry duty and neglected to tell him. He pulled his hair back in a ponytail, taking a moment to decide if he was really this stupid before reaching the conclusion that, yes, he was, and so he went back downstairs, where the party was already beginning.

For about half an hour, Roman just stood on the front deck, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed; he greeted people when they spoke to him, gave others friendly nods, but it was obvious he was waiting for something or someone, so no one tried to strike up a conversation. Would it be weird if he was waiting out here for Seth? Probably, but there was no way in hell that he was going to step into that house by himself. It was dangerous to go alone.

Finally, though, Seth arrived, and Roman stood up straight, grinning and already waving. It must not have been too creepy because Seth beamed and waved as well, visibly excited to be there, though Roman hadn't expected Seth to be a partier. And trailing a step behind Seth was his plus one; shaggy blond hair, leather jacket open over a skin-tight black tank, a belt with a flashy buckle, and jeans that made his legs look really, really nice. /Focus, Roman./ He didn't even know who this guy was. Checking him out could come later.

As they got closer, Roman noticed the blond was smoking; he met them at the steps onto the porch. "Hey, Seth. Sorry, man, but you can't bring that inside," Roman added, addressing the guy he didn't know with an apologetic tone to his voice.

The guy snorted and muttered something that must have been extremely rude, because Seth's eyes widened and he swatted his friend's chest. "Just put the damn thing out," Seth told the blond, who rolled his eyes and pointedly took his time putting the cigarette out . . . and then throwing it without ceremony into the yard.

Great. One of these guys. Roman ran a hand down his face. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to let Seth bring this guy, though he had no idea how he was supposed to know who or what to expect. "I'm Roman," he offered eventually, not offering a hand because this obviously wasn't the type of guy to shake hands unless they spat in them first.

Bright blue eyes flicked up to meet Roman's gaze, and he sounded as bored as he looked, simply saying, "Dean." He reached into his pocket and got a piece of gum to pop in his mouth, chewing as he looked Roman over very slowly and very obviously. Once he'd examined the (slightly uncomfortable) football player, he gave a wolfish grin, one that flashed his canines and cheek dimples. "Now where the fuck's this alcohol?" Dean asked, walking past Roman and into the house because he obviously had his priorities.

Roman gave Seth a disbelieving look the second Dean was gone, as if to say, 'Really? /Him/?' Seth gave a sheepish grin and raised both hands. "I know, Dean's kind of- quirky. But he's a cool guy. Trust me." He gave Roman's shoulder a pat. "Oh, and thanks for letting me bring him." He smiled and Roman was practically a puddle at that point because, dear lord, Seth had the prettiest smile.

"Yeah, whatever. If he's passed out in the yard in the morning, you're picking his ass up," Roman told Seth, locking gazes to make sure Seth got the message.

Seth laughed, hooked an arm around Roman's shoulders as he led him into the frat house. "I know, I know. I can't make any promises," he added, scoffing when Roman's frown deepened. "Come on, man. Lighten up. You want a beer?" 

Roman knew Seth was being friendly but he still couldn't stop himself from uttering a very flat "no" out of habit. "I don't drink," he continued, trying to sound less harsh as he rubbed the back of his neck.

There was a moment when neither of them spoke, eyes meeting as Seth analyzed Roman's reaction, undoubtedly catching that there was a story or meaning behind his response and then thankfully dropping it. "Well, if you're not drinking, you cool with driving me home later?" Seth asked, raising his eyebrows.

Roman chuckled. "Yeah, no problem." That was about the time that the music started, some awful rap song blaring from the speakers one of the guys had spent several hundred bucks on. He grimaced and followed Seth as the slighter man went to get a drink.

Seth noticed Roman's expression about the same time he got the cap off of his beer bottle. He laughed and took a drink. "What? Don't like dancing?" There was a laugh that echoed these words, making it clear that he was already aware that Roman wasn't the kind of guy to dance.

"Twerking is not dancing," Roman said simply, falsely solemn, before glancing around. "Should I be concerned your friend just disappeared?" He glanced over at Seth curiously.

Seth had to consider that before shaking his head. "Nah, he'll show back up," he told Roman, patting his chest before slipping past him into the main room again, leaving Roman to reluctantly follow. Although Roman didn't dance, it seemed Seth did, and for an instant Roman regretted his two left feet. Then he noticed Miz from the theater department twerking on a very confused Sandow (who was doing a work study or job shadowing program with one of the teachers for graduate school or something) and he decided that, no, it was not worth being able to put his hands on Seth's hips. Maybe it had something to do with how shy and awkward he could be, especially when it came to things like PDA, and the type of "dancing" going on at this party was more than PDA. He could feel himself blushing despite the fact he wasn't involved; why his teammates thought Roman would ever thank them for forcing him to come to this stupid thing was beyond him.

By the time Roman decided he was going to punch the two responsible right in the face before their next practice, Seth had already finished his beer. He danced to throw it away, and he frowned indignantly at the amused look Roman wore when he turned back around. "What?" Seth demanded, placing his hands on his hips as he walked back over.

Roman raised his eyebrows. "Dude, this isn't a rave."

Seth sighed. "Tell me about it. I'll have to take you to a real party sometime. You're not epileptic, are you?" he inquired randomly.

"No?" It wasn't that Roman was uncertain of if he had epilepsy or not, it was just that he had no idea why Seth had asked that question and was both puzzled and slightly suspicious.

Seth beamed. "Awesome. Oh, hey, Nattie!" he called, waving to one of the cheerleaders who was walking past them with Naomi (she was engaged to Roman's cousin, though he had no idea how a dork like him had gotten a girl like her). Naomi smiled and waved at Roman, eyes sympathetic, and Natalya hugged Seth. She whispered something in his ear and Seth laughed, shaking his head. "No. He actually disappeared," he admitted.

Natalya pursed her lips. "We'll find him," she told Seth, patting his cheek and hooking her arm through Naomi's to pull her along for whatever mission Nat had assigned them.

Roman had his eyebrows arched when Seth turned back to him, as if expecting an explanation. "Oh, yeah, Nat and I are pretty much best friends," Seth explained, hoping that would be enough and he wouldn't ask what they'd talked about. After all, it made sense. They were on the cheerleading squad together, and Natalya was obviously not a natural blond.

Luckily for him, Roman wasn't the kind of guy to push for information when it wasn't offered. "You wanna dance?" At the surprised look it earned him, he shook his head quickly with a chuckle. "Not with me. But I'm sure you could find someone willing."

Seth bounced on the balls of his feet, looking conflicted. "Are you sure?" he asked Roman, brow crinkling. "I don't mind just hanging out with you. Really." Not that Roman had been worried about that; he could just tell that Seth was one of those guys who came to parties to dance, not to hook up or get wasted. It was an improvement from most of his other friends.

"Nah, I'm fine." Roman waved it off. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, okay?" After he got a nod from Seth and a brief smile (right before Seth darted off to join the mass of college students already dancing like he was about to dive into a mosh pit), Roman ran a hand down his face and sighed. There went his excuse to avoid the party. How was he supposed to have known that Seth liked parties, especially /frat parties/?

Roman shook his head as he turned on his heel. Whatever. He'd just get a soda from the fridge and hang out in the kitchen until enough time passed that he could retreat to his room. He just hoped they kept the beer pong contests contained to the dining room this time.


	5. Chapter 5

To Roman's surprise, Dean found him before Seth did. Well, "found" was a strong word. He obviously hadn't been looking for /Roman/; he'd just been wandering about until he found somewhere relatively quiet to drink his beer. The blond's forehead was pinched, movements stiff as he leaned against the counter next to Roman. It was weird. Roman thought Dean would be enjoying himself a lot more than this. Something about him just screamed 'drunk and disorderly.'

"Hey." Dean's voice was even more sandpaper rough than Roman remembered. The Samoan glanced over at the blond next to him; Dean was looking through the open kitchen doorway, watching the party going on with a bored expression. "You actually got anything good?" he asked, glancing at Roman now.

Oh. That made a lot more sense. Roman laughed despite himself, shaking his head. "/I/ don't. Did Brie not break out the vodka yet?" he asked, sounding almost curious.

Dean's eyes lit up. "Vodka?" he repeated.

Roman sighed. "Yes, vodka, but-"

Dean grinned hugely and fist pumped the air, shuffling from one foot to the other with his now-empty beer bottle grasped tightly in one hand. "Awesome. This beer fucking /blows/. Someone told me you guys toked too, but I haven't found any."

Roman just decided to assume that meant Dean hadn't found anyone smoking and not that Dean hadn't found any /weed/, because that would mean the blond had been snooping through everyone's things. Not that it worried Roman too much - Dean didn't seem like the type to steal anything. Snag a few joints, apparently, but he didn't seem like a klepto. "Again. /I/ don't. Rose should have some. He always has some." Why was he telling Dean this? Why was he encouraging this behavior?

Dean's enthusiasm tapered a bit. "I have no fucking clue who Rose is," he told Roman simply.

"Trust me, he's hard to forget. Maybe he hasn't got here yet. He always shows up with all these cosplayers. Has way too much eyeliner. High as a fucking kite. Oh, and his best friend is a bunny." At the look this earned him, Roman grinned. "I'm not lying. His best friend is a bunny. Well, a guy in a bunny suit. Same thing, right?"

Dean laughed incredulously, shaking his head. "I had no idea there were so many fucking weirdos on campus. I've been missing out." He paused and turned his attention to a trashcan on the other side of the kitchen. The lid was gone god-knew-where and it had already started to fill with trash; Dean threw his empty bottle like he was shooting a basketball and somehow managed to get it in the trashbin.

Roman had to admit he was impressed. "Nice shot." Guy was either still sober or he was a master at beer pong. If it was the latter, he'd make a couple hundred bucks tonight, but Roman was not telling Dean about /that/.

This earned him an eye roll. "Of course it was." Dean hopped up backward onto the counter, so he could perch on the edge and swing his feet as he studied Roman. Roman looked right back at Dean, steadily holding his gaze until the other grinned. "I gotta question."

Roman sighed. "Of course you do," he muttered, though he wasn't actually that bothered by it. He /was/ bothered by the fact that Dean had just put an unlit cigarette between his lips. "You're not smoking that in here." His voice was flat, making it clear he wasn't going to let Dean light it.

Dean pouted. "Come on, man," he whined, one hand reaching into his coat pocket to undoubtedly find his lighter.

Roman crossed his arms. "No. Outside." He inclined his head to the door that led to the back deck.

Dean glanced from the door to Roman to the door and back. "It's cold as tits out there, man." At the complete lack of sympathy from the black-haired man, he bit his lip. "At least come out there with me. I gotta question, remember?" Dean reminded him.

"Fine." Roman ignored the way that Dean beamed and did a little dance when he dropped down off the kitchen counter, ignored the fact that Dean's dimples were fucking adorable, and ignored the voice in his head reminding him how interested Dean had seemed earlier. Instead, he led Dean out onto the deck, instantly shivering a bit because he hated the fucking cold. He was from Florida. He wasn't made for this shit.

Dean noticed the way Roman immediately hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his jean pockets; he smirked, lighting the end of his cigarette. "What? Cold?" he taunted, waggling his eyebrows.

Roman glared back at Dean. "Yes, dipshit. I'm cold." And he tried to look irritated when that made Dean laugh, but something told him he failed. Whatever. He moved to lean back against the deck railing, watching Dean as he fidgeted and paced.

It seemed like Dean forgot Roman was even there for a few minutes. He finished the entire cigarette before he glanced at the Samoan (who at that point had taken down his hair to shield his face and neck from the chilly wind). "So. You Seth's boyfriend?"

There was something about the way Dean asked that question. His expression was neutral; his voice was neutral. He spoke like he was just curious, but his eyes were suddenly a bit more intense, making it clear that there was a reason for this curiosity. Roman was actually taken aback for a moment - he'd honestly thought /Dean/ was Seth's boyfriend. "No. You?" he returned, which was stupid, because why would Seth's boyfriend ask Roman if Roman was Seth's boyfriend?

Luckily, Dean didn't comment on the lack of logic to the question, shaking his head and making his curls bounce a bit with the motion. "Nope." He was quiet for a minute, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he looked at Roman without meeting his gaze, and then he broke into a grin. "Well, shit, I gotta say I'm glad you're not his boyfriend. Not only are you way hotter than me, but it'd be kinda hard to kick your ass. Not that I couldn't," he added.

Roman rolled his eyes, ignoring the comment about his looks. "You think you could kick my ass?" There was a challenge there despite himself, but he wasn't going to retract it now, so he just arched his eyebrows at Dean.

"I know I could." Dean bounced from one foot to the other, jabbing at the air as if to illustrate.

Roman couldn't resist laughing. "Keep telling yourself that." Then he frowned. "Did you plan on trying to beat me up out here if I was Seth's boyfriend?" he asked, the question surprisingly lacking any anger on Roman's part.

No hesitation, just a nod. "Yep." Dean grinned crookedly at Roman and waggled his eyebrows. "But since you're not, I guess you're safe for now."

Dean Ambrose was absolutely ridiculous and Roman was unable to do anything but laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean Ambrose was a lot of things. He was a ginger, a smoker who vehemently denied any addiction whatsoever, a heavy drinker who could drink almost anyone under the table, and a math nerd. Okay, that last one wasn't common knowledge. No one needed to know that Dean liked numbers or that calculus equations made him smile, because that would ruin his image of being a total badass who didn't care about anything. He didn't really know why he bothered sometimes - really, it wasn't like he had that many friends to begin with, and who the fuck cared what other people thought anyways? - but he figured it was instinct, something he'd learned when he was a kid that stuck with him. Because being the cockiest SOB in any given situation was always the smartest - and safest - bet.

Tonight, Dean was drunk, higher than he'd been for a /long/ time, and in desperate need of someone to fuck. Or to fuck him. At this point, he was no longer picky (not that he was ever remarkably selective about the people he slept with). Yeah, when AJ had given him the condoms, it had been expected that Dean would use them with /Seth/, which was what his goal had been. Hell, when AJ had been picking out the jeans that best fit his ass, he'd felt super cocky about his chances of finally tapping that ass and bragged about all the Seth ass he was going to get tonight. But, no, Seth was /not/ an option. Twenty minutes ago, Orton - chemistry professor, total weirdo, reminded Dean of Voldemort, especially with the snake fetish - had walked in the frat house, effectively scaring the absolute shit out of all the students around him, but simply ignored the party, instead wrapping his arm around Seth's waist when the two-toned man had bounced over to him completely drunk off his tits and leaving without so much as a backwards glance. And when no one commented on it or even the fact they'd let a drunk Seth go home with some teacher (who gave Dean the absolute creeps), it dawned on Dean who Seth's boyfriend was. Well shit.

Dean was still nursing the beer he'd gotten right after that realization, now only really concerned with keeping his buzz going. It wasn't like Dean needed Seth to get laid. No, Dean was getting laid tonight, no matter the cost, but now it was certain that Seth was not an option and, well, that was a fucking bummer. But, hey, there were a group of cheerleaders off in the corner dancing and laughing - Dean immediately noticed thanks to his titty senses (the master had a sixth sense because, duh, he was the master for a reason). Dean wondered how sober the latino girl was, peering thoughtfully at said female. Because Dean was skeevy, but he wasn't that skeevy. And taking advantage of drunk people was a fucking shit thing to do.

"Don't stare." Dean had been so focused on devising a plan for hitting up the dark-haired woman that he hadn't noticed Roman until he spoke. Dean /might/ have jumped, but he managed to muffle a startled yelp. "Besides, Layla isn't interested," Roman added, patting Dean on the shoulder as if consoling him.

Dean decided he would forgive Roman for sneaking up on him but only because he was providing Dean with some new and very useful information. And it helped that Roman was hot. Really, really hot. Hey, maybe Dean could hook up with Roman, if Roman actually /had/ sex, which he wasn't too optimistic about, because Roman didn't do anything else fun like drink or smoke (not even a cigarette - what a fucking loser). "What does that mean, she isn't interested?" Dean scoffed. "Dude, I know you just met me, so I'll let you in on a little secret - I'm fucking irresistible."

Roman gave a small nod. "Sure you are." And there was a flat tone to his voice that made it clear he was patronizing Dean. Then he chuckled and rubbed his jaw. "She's into chicks. And she's been in love with her friend, Summer, for years, apparently," he added because he remembered Naomi telling him about it while he was hanging with his cousins. Apparently, Naomi was very invested in the love life of every single person on the cheerleading squad.

Dean's tongue peeked out from between his lips, pressing said lips together and frowning to complete the entire "overly focused" look. "Well, shit." He sulked for a moment before perking up and smacking Roman's shoulder in his excitement.

Roman didn't flinch away but he did give Dean an unamused look, hitting the back of Dean's head. "What was that for, dumbass?" he scoffed.

"I'm gonna kick your ass," Dean informed Roman, proceeding to smack at the other until Roman actually began to hit him back, so they spent several moments hitting each other like the children they were before Roman hooked an arm around Dean's neck and Dean immediately threw his hands up. "I give! I give!" Because he so did not want to get a noogie from the guy he was hoping to screw later. And he just didn't like noogies.

Roman laughed and released Dean, ruffling his hair; it should have been odd, the casual contact between them, because they'd only known each other for a few hours, but Roman was the kind of guy who obviously smacked his teammates on their ass for good luck. Well, that was the impression Dean got, and Dean didn't really mind, especially considering that he himself had a propensity to completely ignore the entire concept of "personal space."

Dean glared, crossing his arms but not backing down or stepping away from Roman. "You're a piece of shit," he informed Roman, pointing one finger at Roman and only glowering more when that made Roman laugh. Then Dean perked up, that train of thought forgotten as he recalled what he'd been about to tell Roman. "I found out who Seth's boyfriend is," Dean informed Roman, looking simultaneously proud for having done so and also bummed because, well, he'd found out who Seth's boyfriend was.

And then Roman did an actual double-take. Like, a literal double-take - Dean had never seen someone do that before, and it was actually kinda hilarious. "You did?" Like Dean needed any prompting to launch himself into a quick, rapid explanation.

"Yeah, man, I was looking for Seth to see if I could talk him into having sex with me. You know, just a little. That doesn't count as cheating, right? But I would totally love to have a /lot/ of sex with Seth. Anyways. All of a sudden, the door opened and people got really quiet and shit, and that one science teacher, the one that has the snake kink, with the weird stare like he's going to drug you and drag you into the back of his car, him, yeah, what is his name?" Dean had to pause his story because it was going to bother him now.

Roman had to pause for a second so he could process what Dean had just said. "Orton?" he supplied, not knowing if he should laugh or sigh.

Dean brightened, hopping from one foot to the other and tapping a rhythm on his chest with the fingers of his right hand, palm flat against his shirt. "Yeah, him. Orton. Weird name. Like, who the fuck has the name 'Orton'? But anyways. He just fucking walks in and shit, still in his khakis and looking like a douchebag, and all of a sudden Seth is, like, throwing himself into Orton's arms and kissing him and Orton /laughs/ and he, he wraps his fucking arm around Seth's waist like a fucking pervert and then they just leave!"

There was a moment of silence as Roman thought over that, covering his face with one hand. "Well, fuck," was all Roman said, those two words expressing all of the disappointment that Dean himself felt.

"Yeah, so, neither of us are gonna be fucking Seth anytime soon." Dean sighed and snatched a beer from the hand of some girl walking past them - he flashed a charming smile when she turned to look at him and then he grabbed Roman's arm, leading him to another corner of the room before the chick could beat him up. "Moment of silence for all the Seth ass we aren't getting," Dean declared, taking a swig of his beer and snickering at the look Roman gave him.

Roman was actually blushing a bit, but he was obviously trying to ignore it. "Can you stop, Ambrose? Seriously?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Nope. I'm always thinkin' about ass. All the time. Every day. Ev-"

"That's not what I meant," Roman interrupted, voice void of any amusement.

Dean poked Roman in the chest. "Well, Rome, what about you? You saying you don't think about Seth's ass?" he challenged.

Roman blinked. "I- My name's /Roman/." That was smooth, Roman. Awkwardly avoiding the question by being a dick about Dean's new nickname for him.

Dean cackled, nearly dropping his beer bottle as he almost doubled over, having to lean against Roman to stay upright. He was actually surprised when Roman didn't move away or even tense, but it was a good surprised. A great surprise. Because, yeah, Dean wanted to screw this guy, but he was also drunk off his ass and he needed someone to keep him upright and Roman was definitely a big enough guy to act as his crutch.

Roman blushed again, darker this time. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded incredulously, even though they both knew Roman was just being defensive.

"Ah, Ro." Dean straightened and slung an arm around Roman's shoulders, leaning in very, very close as he chuckled, taking one last drink from his bottle before he tossed it into the nearest trashcan (only missing some dude by a few inches, but that made the shot even more impressive). Now he placed his free hand on Roman's chest, because, holy shit, Roman's shirt was tight and it had given Dean a good idea of how fit he was, but it was still really god damn impressive to feel it for himself. 

Roman shifted a bit, getting slightly uncomfortable now, though he didn't move away from Dean or protest, so the blond gave a completely unapologetic, shit-eating grin. "Ambrose, what are-"

Dean laughed, placed a finger on Roman's lips to silence the Samoan as he shushed him loudly. "No, no, no. No words, beautiful." The fact that Roman blushed at that, blushed at something so absolutely ridiculous, made Dean laugh even harder, leaning in with a slight sneer, as if challenging Roman to back down as he removed basically any and all personal space between them.

Roman's eyebrows shot up. "The fuck are you doing, man?" he asked, giving a nervous chuckle that sounded far more pathetic than Roman had meant for it to.

Were they gonna play that game? Really? "Come on. I get you're a football player and, y'know, football players are supposed to be stupid, but you can't be that stupid," Dean scoffed. He noticed something in Roman's demeanor change, noticed a twitch to his brow that was almost - irritation? Embarrassment?

Roman recovered quickly, though. "Was that your attempt at a pickup line?" he inquired, more than just a hint of sass to him now, almost as if he was covering that momentary lapse in composure with attitude, like that would prevent Dean from noticing.

Dean shrugged. "Okay, I get it. You're not stupid." He held up both hands, as if to show he meant no harm. "But seriously." He draped an arm around Roman's shoulders, leaned against him in a companionable way. "We're at a fucking frat party. The dude we wanted to bone got picked up by his boyfriend. His really tall boyfriend. Who probably makes a lot of fucking money. How can we compete with that? So I suggest that we get drunk - well." Dean giggled. "I'm already drunk. And high. The next step is for you to take me to your room and fuck me." He pointed at Roman, mock-stern, as if he was giving a child directions.

"No romance?" Roman drawled, trying to act like he was unaffected and just a badass in general who dealt with drunk guys coming onto him all the time (okay, maybe that last part, yeah). But Dean could feel the way he shifted his weight, saw the twitch to his brow, the way he licked his lips and swallowed before speaking.

Dean laughed and moved one hand to Roman's ass, which made the Samoan jump a bit and twist to catch his wrist, which also resulted in them being face to face, with mere inches between them. "Oh, big boy's playing rough now?" he drawled.

Roman's eyes narrowed slightly. "Just how drunk /are/ you?" he asked Dean, as if he had just found an explanation for Dean coming onto him even though they both knew that Dean just really wanted to get in his pants. 

Dean clicked his tongue in disapproval, leaning in even further - and making Roman actually lean back a bit, like this intimidated him. "Doesn't matter. Can still get it up." And then he leaned forward abruptly, pressing their lips together roughly, clumsily.

Roman froze against Dean, not moving for several seconds, before pulling back, bright red, placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, squeezing as he kept the blond from trying to kiss him. He seemed to be at a loss for words, just looking ridiculously embarrassed and flustered as his eyes flicked over Dean's features, not speaking because he obviously couldn't find whatever words he was searching for. Then he shook his head furiously and walked off abruptly.

There was a moment where Dean worried that he'd pushed Roman too much, that he'd scared him off. But then he saw the larger man glance back over his shoulder at Dean and the blond grinned hugely, brightly, hurrying after him.


	7. Chapter 7

Roman had no idea why he'd given in to Dean Ambrose. Dean Ambrose was ridiculous, completely wasted, and he could already tell he was brash, annoying, loud, rude - basically everything Roman wasn't, because Roman was pointedly quiet, thoughtful, careful. But then the dick had just /kissed/ him in the middle of an entire room of college kids (his /team mates/) and Roman had wanted to punch him in the face in the same moment he'd wanted to shove him against the wall and kiss that stupid smirk off of Dean's face. So he'd done the only logical thing; he'd left. The stupid part lied in the fact that he had Dean Ambrose following him. Up the stairs. Into his room.

Roman didn't do hook-ups, not normally. Yeah, he had one night stands, but not like this, not with alcohol, not with someone like Dean. It was rushed and against his better judgment - which, for some reason, made it even harder to think rationally, because he knew what he was doing was stupid but the more primal part of Roman kept drowning out that voice of reason.

Not that Dean was giving Roman any time to reconsider. No, he was crowding behind Roman, laughing and nudging him and practically tripping up the stairs in his excitement. And Roman barely had a chance to open the door before Dean was shoving him inside and groping him, leaning in to kiss at whatever skin he could reach.

"Fuck, Dean, calm down," Roman chuckled disbelievingly, turning on his heel to press Dean against his now closed door, pin the blond's slighter body with his own.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Roman, hands already moving to pull on Roman's shirt, trying to practically rip it off of the Samoan. "Dude, I'm about to get laid. Oh, and have you seen yourself? Jesus christ. You're like a fucking- I don't know, sex god?" He seemed offended at the way Roman's nose crinkled. "That's the best I could come up with right now! Would you prefer exotic dancer? Pornstar?" he offered.

Roman kissed Dean's neck, mainly so the blond wouldn't be able to see him blush faintly. "Exotic- You know what, I don't want to know." He pressed their lips together in a kiss that started more gently than their first, though it quickly got more heated, mouths moving together in a way that could almost be described as /violent/ as Dean finally got leverage on Roman's shirt. They broke the kiss so Dean could pull Roman's shirt off; Roman then shoved off Dean's jacket, yanked his shirt off so they were both topless, and then pulled him in by his hips for another kiss.

There was a moment when Dean seemed to fight Roman for dominance, though the blond melted against him the instant that Roman tugged on his hair, groaning against his lips and submitting willingly. Trying to make it to Roman's bed without breaking the kiss was - challenging, to say the least. Roman liked to think of himself as a pretty clean guy, but even he was guilty of dropping clothes on the floor when he was in a hurry. He would have picked them up, had it not been for the party, so of course now Roman's foot got caught on something and he nearly fell.

Dean burst into laughter. "You're a fucking idiot," he told Roman, catching him and licking the Samoan's cheek with a smirk. He wasn't surprised when Roman blushed and gave him an irritated look, quickly ducking out of his arms to throw himself onto Roman's bed, which caused it to creak quite audibly. Dean rolled onto his back, fingers working on his pants button, and snickered. "Dude, your bed is noisy as shit."

Roman rolled his eyes, climbing onto the bed and covering Dean's body with his own, effectively preventing Dean from unzipping his pants; he felt Dean wrap his arms around Roman's neck, tug on his bun, as they kissed. "Have you heard yourself?" he muttered against Dean's lips.

Dean hooked a finger under the ponytail holder, yanked so with one smooth movement Roman's hair was let down and the rubber band went flying across the room. "Okay, yeah, I am pretty loud, but now everyone'll know what we're doing even without my mouth running," he pointed out, wrapping his legs around Roman's waist because he could feel the other tense against him.

"Shit." Roman bit at Dean's lips, pulled back to study the blond's features. "You're wasted," he commented, feeling his conscience begin to protest. Yeah, he wanted this and, yeah, he was pretty sure Dean wanted this, but he wasn't going to just assume, and it seemed like it was likely Dean wouldn't remember this in the morning.

Dean's nose curled. "So?" he challenged before his eyes narrowed. "Nuh-uh. No. You're not backing out because I'm drunk. Or because I smoked, like, three joints. I'm a big boy, Ro, I can handle my drugs /and/ alcohol just fine. Now don't be a buzz-kill." He pulled Roman in for a rough kiss, more teeth than anything. He seemed pleased when Roman kissed him back, groaning into the kiss as he pulled the larger man down flush against him.

Roman shook his head when he finally broke the kiss, both of them breathing heavily. "Dean," he started, and he must have had that /tone/ his teammates told him that he sometimes got, when he was busy "mothering" over them (he did not /mother/, okay, it was concern for his friends who were too stupid to take care of themselves and had nothing to do with maternal instincts Roman may or may not have possessed).

The blond actually shook his head and uttered "uh-uh" like a four-year-old, yanking Roman in for another kiss. He obviously wasn't going to agree - or give in, for that matter. 

Roman almost didn't want to tell Dean "no," because something about the blond made him want to give him whatever he wanted, even if he was already starkly aware that Dean often wanted things that were either ridiculous or impossible. So instead, he tried a different approach, mouthing along Dean's jaw, down his neck. He knew how this worked. If he gave Dean enough time, the guy would get tired and fall asleep. He had to crash eventually (right?). And until then, Roman could satisfy Dean - and maybe indulge himself a bit too - by kissing every inch of his chest, teeth catching on a nipple though he released it at the way Dean flinched.

Dean spoke before Roman could ask if he'd hurt the blond. "Sorry, man, that nipple's kinda-" He chuckled. "Funny story, actually. Had to sew it back on. Did a pretty damn good job, didn't I?" he asked, raising his eyebrows with a crooked smirk.

Roman blinked and tried to determine if Dean was trying to pull one over on him or not. Apparently, Dean was being genuinely serious about that, which made Roman wonder what kind of things Dean did that made having to reattach his own nipple seem like some funny story to tell. After a moment of considering that, Roman decided that, no, he didn't want to know. He was better off not knowing. "Right. Okay. Any other body parts that had to be reattached?" The question was teasing at first, but as he asked it he realized how valid of an inquiry it was and, yeah, maybe it was good to find this out /now/.

Dean's brow crinkled as he thought, face scrunched; the amount of time it took for Dean to answer made Roman a bit nervous, honestly, because did Dean have /that/ many injuries or was his memory just /that bad/? Then his eyes suddenly widened. "Actually, hold up a second, man, I gotta piss," he announced, squirming beneath Roman as if to express the urgency behind this statement.

Roman laughed, eyebrows raising incredulously as his features lit with genuine amusement. "Really? /Right now/?" Roman asked even as he rolled off of Dean so the blond could jump up.

"No, in two days, three hours, and twenty-one minutes," Dean deadpanned before actually /bouncing/ into Roman's bathroom (his room was expensive as hell because of it but Roman already spent far more time in public showers than anyone should ever have to). And of course Dean left the door wide open. God, Roman hated when people didn't close the bathroom door - it wasn't /that/ hard. Whatever. No way Roman was gonna just sit here and have to listen to Dean (although it wouldn't be a problem if Dean had followed common bathroom etiquette), so he stood and pulled off his jeans. He tugged on jogging pants and picked up some of his dirty clothes - because he was generally a neat guy, but sometimes Roman didn't get "home" until one or two in the morning and then he basically dropped everything and passed out - and, shit, was that an empty Doritos bag? He'd told Ryback to stop doing that.

Roman threw said bag away and dropped all his dirty clothes in the hamper in the corner, raking his fingers through his hair as he shoved it back and out of his face; he shook his hair out as he flopped down on the bed, tossing it back like the hair product model he was inside. He opened his eyes (because he had to close his eyes to do the hair flip, it was an unspoken rule, and it made him look badass) to find Dean leaning against the doorway to Roman's bathroom, smirking as he waggled his eyebrows. "Got ready for me and everything? What? Couldn't wait any longer?" Dean quipped, before pausing. His eyebrows drew together, crinkled his forehead; it seemed he noticed the way Roman was sprawled out on the bed on his back, head tilted to look at Dean. "Wait a fucking second." Dean practically dove onto the bed, making it creak very loudly - almost alarmingly.

There was a moment where Roman thought Dean was actually going to try to beat him up like he'd said before, but then he realized that Dean was literally flinging himself on top of Roman and kissing him. The kiss was rough and an obvious attempt at rustling Roman up, but Roman simply placed both hands on either side of Dean's face and pulled him back to speak. "You need to sleep," Roman said simply, sternly.

Dean guffawed at Roman. "That comes after the sex, Roman. Unless you're into that weird unconscious-sex thing. But I'm not. So it's still not happening either way." He squirmed against Roman. "Come on, seriously, just fuck me," Dean whined.

Roman laughed, ignoring the look that Dean gave him; instead, he wrapped his arms around Dean in a tight, warm grip and pulled the blond down with him so they were both laying together on the bed, facing each other with Dean uselessly trying to wiggle out of Roman's arms. "No. Sleep. There is no way that I'm gonna deal with you needing to piss every five minutes."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, paused with said mouth wide open, and then sighed loudly. "Fine. Whatever. I'm eating all of your shit tomorrow," he informed Roman, using a tone of voice that was meant to let him know that it was all the Samoan's fault.

Roman snickered. "Good luck with that. You /see/ the guys I live with?" He loved his teammates and-slash-or frat brothers, but almost all of them were big, perpetually hungry, and awful at sharing. His remark fell on deaf ears; Dean was snoring, face buried in Roman's chest and dead to the world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done posting the chapters i've already written . . . probably gonna work on it this weekend after finals because i've got inspiration. and i promise a plot will happen eventually. it's coming, i just take forever setting things up. also! dean uses the wrong pronouns for dolph/genders him as male because he doesn't know dolph goes by ze/zir and the chapter is from his point of view, so that's why the pronouns are wrong for ziggler. i contemplated using the correct ones for simplicity sake but since when do i ever do things the easy way?

Waking up in a stranger's bed wasn't a new thing for Dean Ambrose; one night stands were his /thing/ - and he also just sucked when it came to relationships (like when Renee had finally agreed to go out with Dean after the aforementioned male spent two weeks trying to charm and woo her - McDonald's was absolutely a date, damn it - only for them to both agree eleven days later that they should just stay friends).

No, the only weird thing about this situation was the fact that Dean wasn't naked. He /was/, however, completely hungover; the instant he opened his eyes, his head started throbbing - it kind of felt like the time Wade had bounced his head off of a brick wall for one too many pirate jokes. Dean groaned and covered his face with one hand as he rolled back onto his stomach, face buried in a pillow that smelled really fucking nice. He had every intention of going back to sleep and had almost done just that when he felt someone shake his shoulder. "I'm asleep," Dean groaned tiredly, refusing to budge an inch, as if hoping that would convince them and they'd go away.

Instead, they just snorted and whacked the back of Dean's head. "Get your ass up or you're not getting breakfast," the person responded. The voice was deep and rumbling, really damn sexy, and almost completely foreign. Wait, whose bed was Dean in? 

Dean lifted his head and squinted up at the guy standing next to the bed. Tall, broad, copper-skinned, long black hair that belonged on a Disney princess . . . "Ro~" Dean sang once he finally remembered what his name was, rolling off of the bed but catching himself before he hit the floor and scrambling to his feet, trying to look somewhat cool but staggering because the room was spinning and, wow, he'd gotten wasted.

Roman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't call me that." He sounded weary, as if he was already resigned to the nickname.

"Whatever, man. You promised food," Dean reminded, bouncing from one foot to the other impatiently. He grinned cheekily when Roman's gray eyes warned him to behave, noticing someone peeking into the room through the slight crack in the door and shifting his attention to them.

The person blatantly spying on them seemed to take Dean's wordless acknowledgment as permission to come in. They pushed the door wide open just as Roman turned to see what Dean was looking at. "Yo! Ambrose! You hooked up with Roman last night? Damn, I'm impressed," the guy crowed. He had bleach-blond hair with tacky brown roots braided tightly against his scalp; he was wearing someone's jersey (it obviously wasn't /his/, because it was way too big, nearly falling off of his shoulders) and Dean was going to assume the guy was wearing pants of some kind - shorts, maybe? The shirt hit his knees so it was impossible to tell. Not that it'd be the first time random pantless men tried talking to Dean.

Dean blinked. "And you are . . . ?"

The guy laughed. "Good question. I just assumed you'd know who I was," he explained. "I'm Dolph Ziggler." He grinned brightly and offered a hand as if for Dean to shake it.

The look Dean gave Dolph's hand seemed to be Roman's cue to interrupt. "Can we take this downstairs?" He placed a hand on Dean's back to push him along to the door, snagging Dolph by a baggy shirt sleeve to pull him out of Roman's room as well. Roman pulled the door shut behind them, sighing and shoving his hair back out of his face. "And we didn't-"

Dean interrupted - he almost commented on the fact that Roman was /blushing/, but he was already asking Dolph, "How do you know who I am?" Yeah, Dean Ambrose had a reputation; normally people recognized just the name and not, well, /him/.

Dolph was already halfway down the stairs, so he just turned his head to speak over his shoulder. "Well, first of all, I'm on the cheer squad with Seth-"

Dean made an almost obnoxiously incredulous sound as he thundered down the stairs behind Ziggler and in front of Roman. At the dark look Ziggler gave him, Dean threw both hands up innocently. "Dude, I'm just surprised he has the time to cheer. Does he ever sleep?" he explained, brow crinkling at the question.

This seemed to appease Dolph, because he slung an arm around Dean's shoulder and laughed. "I have no idea. I'm thinking he's a vampire. I mean, that's the only reasonable explanation."

The fact that Dean frowned thoughtfully, considering the possibility, made Roman sigh loudly. Before Dean could respond or Roman could give the two men a reality check, a mass of pure muscle was suddenly barreling into Roman and tackling him onto the floor. "Jesus fucking-" Roman groaned, not even bothering with trying to push his teammate off of him but just swatting at him.

Ryback laughed, ruffled Roman's hair in a way that was patronizing, almost mocking. "You're a pretty big pussy for a football player, you know that?" he snickered. He hit Roman back - and he might have used a bit more force than Roman had, but it was Roman's stupidity for hitting him in the first place.

Dean stood where he was, looking down at the two men with a crinkled brow and a puzzled expression.

Ziggler noticed and laughed, slinging an arm around Dean's shoulders. "That's the Big Guy, Ryback," he explained, gesturing to said man with an almost proud tone in his voice; Ryback looked up and grinned, revealing teeth crooked from years of football.

Roman made another pained noise, slapped at Ryback's side and muttered, "Let me up, fucking jackass."

Dean glanced from Ziggler to Ryback and back to Ziggler. "Is he your boyfriend?" Dean asked the blond, raising an eyebrow and pointing at Ryback.

Ziggler burst into laughter at the same instant Ryback did - Ryback was shaking so much that he sort of rolled off of Roman and allowed the Samoan to jump to his feet. "Oh god, you think-" Ziggler was on the verge of hyperventilating, wiping at the corners of his eyes. He tried to say something else but all that came out was an odd wheezing sound.

"Ryback's straight," Roman said simply, standing up and scowling down at Ryback as if considering the risks and benefits of attacking his teammate while he was down. He eventually just sighed to himself and shook his head, moving into the kitchen and hearing someone follow him - presumably Dean, because he could hear Ziggler trying to help Ryback up even as they continued cackling.

Dean shouldered Roman out of the way to start opening cabinets. "Where's your cereal?" he asked, the edge of his tongue peeking from between his lips as he searched.

Roman rolled his eyes, nudging Dean out of the way to open one of the highest cabinet doors and gesture with one hand before moving to get a drink from the fridge.

Dean practically leapt up, snatching the box of Lucky Charms and doing a celebratory dance. "Dude, this is the shit," he told Roman very solemnly, waving the cereal and snatching a clean bowl from the sink. Well, he thought it was clean. It /looked/ clean. Ah, it'd be fine. He poured the cereal in and turned just in time for Roman to offer him the milk.

As Roman was putting the milk away and Dean was shoveling Lucky Charms into his mouth, someone walked into the kitchen - another person that Dean didn't recognize. Roman was apparently good friends with him, though, because they bumped shoulders and the guy gave Roman's lower back a pat. "Any cheerleaders stay over?" Roman asked, pulling out a skillet.

The guy laughed, adjusted his ball cap (though Dean had no idea why the guy was even wearing one, really, it was kinda weird - something told him that it might be this guy's /thing/). "Besides Ziggler? No."

For some reason, Roman seemed relieved at that news. Ryback and the aforementioned cheerleader finally made their way into the kitchen, Ryback immediately realizing that Roman was making himself breakfast and grinning hugely. "Reigns, you better be making me breakfast too," Ryback warned his teammate, clapping him on the rear companionably as he moved to pull a carton of orange juice from the fridge and literally start chugging it.

Dean's spoon nearly missed his mouth, staring at Ryback because /people actually did that/? "Ro, I want an omelette too," Dean sang sweetly, flashing a cheeky smile.

Roman rolled his eyes, muttered about how everyone thought he was their mother - just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, making all of them laugh.

The mystery guy - decked in khaki shorts, because apparently those were a thing, with a baggy t-shirt that said "respect" across the front in bold letters - sat down on the stool next to Dean, offering a smile. "Hey. I'm John," he introduced, giving a nod.

Dean nodded back, looking at John almost thoughtfully. He wasn't bad looking - actually, he was very attractive, all muscle with ears that were just a bit too big and one of the nicest asses he'd ever seen - but he wasn't really Dean's type. "Dean."

Suddenly Ziggler was there, arm around John as the blond nearly threw himself in the football player's lap. "Roman hooked up with him last night," Ziggler told John in a stage-whisper, leaning in close. His grin broadened when John blushed, smile going from friendly to shy. Okay, yeah, this guy was gay as hell. What was it with football players at this school and dicks?

Roman had flipped an omelet just as Ziggler said that - he made a choked noise and barely managed to save it, muttering some colorful adjectives to describe Ziggler. He looked over, face bright red. "We did not," he corrected, voice flat and eyes going to John, because he knew Ziggler had already convinced himself.

John raised both hands, palms facing Roman. "Hey, we all know Dolph talks a lot of bullshit." The reassurance made Roman and Ryback laugh, earned a faux pout from Ziggler.

Ryback clapped Ziggler on the shoulder. "Come on, Little Guy. You know it's true."

This resulted in Ziggler bickering with both Ryback and John while Dean observed quietly; he shared a look with Roman, who remained silent as well, and after a few minutes Roman had a plate loaded with omelets, which meant that the three finally stopped bantering back and forth to snatch up breakfast.

"Your friends are weird," Dean informed Roman right before he slipped out the front door, already pulling a cigarette out to light up.


End file.
